Father and Son (Books 16–18)

At dawn, in the hut, Odysseus and the noble swineherd were kindling a fire and preparing breakfast. The baying dogs did not bark at Telemachus as he came, but fawned on him; and Odysseus heard the sound of footsteps, and said: "Eumaeus, some friend is coming, or someone you know well, for the dogs are not barking but fawning around him."

He had not finished speaking when his own son stood in the doorway. The swineherd sprang up in amazement, and the bowls in which he was mixing the fiery wine fell from his hands. He went to meet his master, and kissed his head and his beautiful eyes and both his hands, and wept. As a loving father greets his only son, coming home in the tenth year from a distant land, a son born late, for whom he has suffered many sorrows, so the noble swineherd threw his arms around godlike Telemachus and kissed him, as one escaped from death.

Telemachus treated the old beggar with courtesy, and would not take his seat, but admitted that he could not protect a stranger in his own house, where the suitors ruled. Then he sent Eumaeus to the city, to tell his mother secretly that he was safe. And when the swineherd had gone, Athena appeared at the gate, in the likeness of a woman tall and beautiful; but Telemachus did not see her, for the gods do not appear plainly to everyone. Odysseus saw her, and the dogs; they did not bark, but slunk whimpering to the other side of the yard. She nodded to him with her brows, and he went out; and she touched him with her golden wand. She put a clean cloak and tunic on him, and made him taller and younger; his skin grew dark again, his cheeks filled out, and the beard grew dark around his chin.

He went back into the hut, and his son was amazed, and looked away in fear, thinking it was a god. "Stranger, you look different now from a moment ago. Surely you are one of the gods who rule the wide heaven."

"I am no god," answered much-enduring Odysseus. "Why do you liken me to the immortals? I am your father, for whose sake you have suffered so much grief and endured the insolence of men." And he kissed his son, and let a tear fall to the ground; for until then he had held it back.

But Telemachus could not believe it. "You are not my father, but some god beguiling me, to make me grieve and groan the more." And Odysseus answered: "Telemachus, it does not become you to be so astonished at your own father. No other Odysseus will ever come here; I am he, such as you see me, who after many sufferings and wanderings have come home in the twentieth year." Then Telemachus threw his arms around his noble father and wept, and in both of them rose a longing to lament. They wept aloud, more vehemently than birds, sea eagles or vultures with crooked talons, whose young the country people have taken from the nest before they could fly.

When they had wept their fill, they planned the death of the suitors. No one must know that Odysseus had come home: not Laertes, nor the swineherd, nor anyone in the house, nor Penelope herself. Telemachus would go back to the palace; Odysseus would follow later, in his beggar's rags. "And if they treat me shamefully in the house, let your heart endure it, however I suffer; even if they drag me through the house by the feet, or throw things at me, look on and bear it." When the moment came, Telemachus would take all the weapons out of the hall.

In the city, the suitors learned that their ambush had failed, and they were dismayed. Antinous urged them to kill Telemachus in the country; but Amphinomus, the best of them, whose words pleased Penelope most, for he had a good heart, persuaded them to wait for a sign from the gods. And Penelope came down and rebuked Antinous: "Mad Antinous, why are you plotting death for my son? Do you not know that your father once came here as a fugitive, and Odysseus saved him from the people who wanted to kill him?"

The next morning, Eumaeus led his master to the city, in the likeness of a wretched old beggar, leaning on a staff. On the way, at the fountain, they met Melanthius, the goatherd, who was driving the best goats of the herd for the suitors' dinner; and he insulted them shamefully, and kicked Odysseus on the hip as he passed. Odysseus stood firm, and wondered whether to strike him dead with his staff; but he endured, and held himself back.

As they came near the house, a dog lying there raised his head and pricked up his ears: Argos, the dog of patient Odysseus, whom he himself had raised long ago, but never had joy of, for he had gone to sacred Troy first. Once the young men used to take him out to hunt wild goats and deer and hares; but now, his master gone, he lay neglected on the deep pile of dung from the mules and cattle, full of ticks. When he became aware of Odysseus standing near, he wagged his tail and dropped both his ears, but he no longer had the strength to come closer to his master. And Odysseus looked away and wiped a tear, hiding it easily from Eumaeus. And the fate of black death seized Argos, as soon as he had seen Odysseus again, in the twentieth year.

In the hall, Odysseus went round begging from the suitors, stretching out his hand to each, as if he had been a beggar all his life. They gave him bread and meat, and wondered who he was. But Antinous, the boldest, mocked him, and seized a footstool and threw it, and hit him on the right shoulder at the base of the back. But he stood firm as a rock, and the missile did not stagger him; he only shook his head in silence, brooding evil. And even the other suitors were indignant: "Antinous, you did wrong to strike the wretched wanderer. What if he is some god from heaven? For the gods, in the likeness of strangers from abroad, take every shape, and go about the cities, watching the insolence and the righteousness of men."

Then came a public beggar, known all over Ithaca for his greedy belly, who ate and drank without end, huge in bulk, but with no strength or force. Arnaeus was his name, but the young men called him Irus, because he ran errands for anyone. He tried to drive Odysseus from his own house: "Get away from the doorway, old man, before you are dragged out by the foot." The suitors, laughing, set them to fight, with a goat's stomach stuffed with fat and blood as the prize. Odysseus girded his rags about his loins, and showed his fine great thighs, and his broad shoulders, chest and mighty arms; and the suitors were amazed, and Irus trembled. With one blow under the ear he crushed the bones, and the red blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell down in the dust, bleating. Odysseus dragged him out by the foot to the courtyard gate, and set him there with a staff in his hand to scare off the pigs and dogs.

Afterward, Odysseus spoke to Amphinomus, who had given him bread and toasted him: "Amphinomus, you seem to me a man of sense. Listen: of all the creatures that live upon the earth, there is none so frail as man. I say that the master of this house is not far away; he is very near. May some god take you home out of here, so that you do not meet him when he returns." But Amphinomus went back through the hall, his heart heavy, shaking his head, for his soul foresaw evil. Yet even so he did not escape his fate; Athena had bound him to be killed by the hands and spear of Telemachus.

Then Athena put it into the heart of Penelope to show herself to the suitors. And as she came down, the goddess made her taller and fairer, and whiter than sawn ivory. The suitors' knees gave way, and their hearts were enchanted with desire. And she rebuked them: "This is not the way of suitors in the past. Those who wish to woo a good woman, the daughter of a rich man, bring their own cattle and fat sheep to feed the bride's friends, and give her splendid gifts; they do not devour another's livelihood without paying." And they sent for gifts: a robe, a golden necklace, earrings, jewels. And patient Odysseus was glad, because she drew gifts from them and charmed their hearts with gentle words, while her mind was set on other things.

In the evening, Melantho, one of the maids, the sister of Melanthius, whom Penelope had raised like her own child, and who now slept with Eurymachus, mocked the stranger. And Eurymachus jeered at his bald head, which shone, he said, like a torch, and threw a footstool at him; but it missed, and hit the wine-bearer on the hand. Then wise Telemachus said: "You are mad, sirs. Go home to bed, now that you have eaten and drunk." And they bit their lips and marveled at his boldness. And so they went home to sleep, each to his own house.

(End of Episode 6 — continued in Episode 7: The Scar and the Bow)